In Need Of A Helping Hand
by MusoukaS
Summary: This story takes place almost right after 4x08. After everyone has gone to bed, Phil is still in the break room, drinking and deep in thought. Mace more or less bumps into him, ready to head to bed as well. He eventually asks his best SHIELD agent if he wants to help him train for more upcoming field missions by becoming his sparring partner. Phil might regret his decision.
1. Formalities, Impressions & Lies

Being preoccupied with his own thoughts, so deep in thought, he initially didn't feel the firm hand being planted on his left shoulder. It was a couple of hours deep into the night and a couple of hours after he and May parted ways. He couldn't even remember why he decided to stay here, sat near the dimly lit kitchen, alone, hand palming the tumbler glass. He hadn't moved at all aside from the sporadic refilling of his drink.

"You okay, buddy?", Mace unexpectedly whispered into his ear, startling Phil. Mace swiftly placed another hand on one of Phil's shoulders to gently steady him, effectively preventing him from slipping off his seat.

Chuckling, the Director said, "Suffering from a bad conscience, are we? Relax, Phillip. It's just me."

"Sorry, it's been a long day", Phil said hoarsely, feeling the sudden need to down the rest of his drink in one go. He was in no mood to talk and he certainly wasn't drunk enough to deal with the new boss, their argument from earlier today still fresh in his mind.

"Tell me about it", Mace said as he patted one of Phil's shoulders. He let go of the other man and fleetingly regarded him with slightly frowned eyebrows before deciding to smile at him. For the briefest of moments, Phil smiled back while Mace took a seat across him.

"What are you having?", Mace asked curiously, gesturing towards the glass.

"Haig", Phil replied, looking at the amber liquid before glancing at the Director, his own right hand already moving towards the bottle. "Do you want some?"

Not that he actually felt like sharing. He'd been saving it for a special occasion with May after all, but Mace, surprisingly, had pulled through as well. The younger man had made a good impression on him today if he had to be honest.

"No, no. I'm fine," Mace smiled politely before playfully leaning in, "I have a not so secret agency to run in the morning, agent Coulson."

An amused look appeared on Phil's face, "One of the perks of the job that I _don't_ miss."

Being reminded of their argument, Mace's face grew serious, and the fatigue from today's events became noticeable. "About that, about earlier," he paused, letting out a deep, long sigh. "I know this must be hard for you, but I want you to know-"

Phil had originally said it to tease Mace, to sneakily get back at him or to make fun of him – he wasn't certain why he'd said it, but he regretted it the instant he saw Mace's sober expression. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was a human being, too.

"I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you", Phil quickly interrupted, a solemn expression on his face while he looked at his glass, unable to direct his gaze at the man sitting in front of him. "I shouldn't have. _We_ shouldn't have, but to be frank, we weren't sure if we could trust you. I'm… still not so sure."

He felt a pang of regret in his chest right away after he made that confession. Why was he confessing this to _him_ of all people? And why did he even tell him this? What was the point?

Mace nodded, his voice thick with passion and sympathy as he said, "I understand, Phillip. I really do, but I need you of all people to start trusting me. I hope my actions today prove that I'm dedicated to being the best possible Director I can be."

"They do", Phil spoke softly and nodded slowly in return, still finding it difficult to look up, but oddly feeling somewhat reassured as well.

Now, the argument itself had made him uncomfortable - as any argument generally did, but it wasn't very much like him to start one. In fact, he usually avoided them, except it had been needed to remove any doubt, to clear any miscommunication between the two of them and to be able to come together as a team. He needed to know where Mace's priorities lay, and he had realised that Mace had been trying to protect them, to protect SHIELD. He'd been wrong. In a way, the younger man's respectability had risen at once from that moment on. _Maybe_ , he felt, maybe their new Director could be trusted. Just maybe.

But Phil wouldn't allow the words to leave his lips just yet, wouldn't dare to say it out loud. What if, in the end, Mace couldn't be trusted?

"Phil", he could feel the intense blue eyes boring into him, begging Phil to regard him, so he did – calmly. Mace's eyes stared deeply into his own. "We make a great team, and I can't do my job without you. Agent Mackenzie was right: I'm not good at tactics, but you are. I _need_ you."

Did he just...?

"Not good? No offence, Director, but you're absolutely horrible when it comes to tactics", Phil smirked shyly, deciding to ignore the rising warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Using Elena to recover a highly unstable radioactive substance? It was a bad plan from the start."

Mace smiled gently and raised his hands in defence, "Okay, okay, I suppose I deserve that."

The smirk on Phil's face gradually started to fade away. "Now, when it comes to optics, you're one of the best", he said, hoping to play it off coolly by taking a sip of his drink, and frantically hoping he wouldn't choke and have a coughing fit right there and then.

Mace blinked a couple of times before speaking, tired, and not knowing how to react. "Do you mean that?", he asked, his voice uncannily soft, earnest even.

"Yes", Phil answered, unable to mask the sliver of bewilderment in the tone of his voice.

"And you're not ridiculing me in any way?" Mace's eyes were still on him, suspicious, watchful, but there was a hint of desperation in them, a need for acceptance, for approval – to know he was doing the right thing.

"No, I've never seen anyone excel at that as much as you."

Did he mean it? He wasn't so sure. He personally never had to worry too much about the public eye when he was Director. They just had to stay out of it. More importantly: _he_ had to stay out of it, being resurrected from the dead and all. Besides, he only had Fury's leading example, and he had done it seemingly effortlessly. Mace, on the other hand, seemed too engrossed in optics, but that didn't mean he didn't do well. He just... wasn't a very good Director overall. He lacked the understanding of the bigger picture, the one that was most essential. Phil was also fully aware of the fact that Mace had no prior knowledge of how to run a secret agency, let alone one as big as SHIELD. Mace was an absolute rookie by all means - a reporter who was simply chosen to do the job because of _who_ he was, not _what_ he was capable of. Of course, his previous experience as a reporter made him quick on his feet, sharp, open-minded, very much in tune with what the public wanted, and...

 _Manipulative_.

But Phil wanted to mean it.

A genuine smile appeared on Mace's face, the first one of the night, and Phil once more felt the tugging in the pit of his stomach.

"It's probably because of that nice smile of yours", he said flirtatiously, unable to help himself.

 _Damn._

It'd slipped out before he knew it or even had a chance to think it through.

Mace shifted quietly in his seat in response, which was barely noticeable but Phil's trained eyes caught it. Mace then took an interest in his awfully bland tie, unsure how to respond accordingly. He promptly began to mutter about how pivotal appearances were, the tone of his voice steadily increasing with each spoken word, but Phil wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying. His focus was on the faint blush that had started to creep up the younger man's cheeks, betraying how the new Director truly felt. The rather cluelessness and insecurity of the man before him intrigued Phil, but it also took him by surprise. He was actually granted a glimpse behind the fabricated persona of Director Mace and into the mystery of Jeffrey's real self.

"But you're still pretty bad at tactics", Phil added hastily, cutting off Mace's tirade about something. Before unhurriedly taking a sip of the Haig, he was unable to hide the coy smirk from emerging, but his eyes were still glued on his superior. Mace's smile immediately vanished, as expected.

There was a brief silence before Mace interrupted it, curiosity taking the better of him, "Do you miss it?"

"Hmm?", Phil hummed, his mind leisurely returning back to reality.

"Do you miss being the Director?"

He was silent for a while, pondering. "Sometimes, I suppose", he paused, taking another sip to buy him more time - to think, to carefully choose his words. "But it's not an easy job. The responsibility, the decisions you have to make…"

"You can say that again", Mace agreed, almost rolling his eyes before a hand worriedly rubbed his forehead, revealing for a passing moment how truly drained and vulnerable he was. He then crossed his arms before his chest, keeping up his pretence while staring at Phil, pleased.

"Don't worry," Phil quipped, carefully observing the man across, "I'm not going to steal it from you, Jeffrey. I prefer being in the field."

"Oh, I'm hoping you'll try", Mace replied, eyes darkening with something he couldn't yet describe or place - a mischievous sparkle all of the sudden present.

Phil cocked his head slightly, confused, his eyes piercing Mace's. Instead of asking for clarification, he remained silent and hoped Mace would explain himself, but Phil himself grew more and more suspicious.

Something had changed.

"You've been an agent for quite some time now. You've even trained under Fury. You can't blame a guy for being curious."

A small shrug of the shoulders emphasised how lightly Mace thought of this.

Oh, Phil didn't like this change, and he certainly did not like where this conversation was heading.

"And by 'a guy' you don't happen to mean an Inhuman with super strength, right?"

Mace didn't say anything, kept eerily quiet. He simply smiled, but the mischief never left his eyes.

"You want to fight _me_?"

"Why not?", Mace shrugged for a second time. "I'm interested in finding out what SHIELD has to offer, and you're the best SHIELD has to offer."

"You know I can't beat you. Not even with this", and with that, Phil propped his left elbow on the table, emphasising his prosthetic hand.

"Oh, come on, Phil. It'll be fun."

That damn twinkle in his eyes was still there, still blatantly visible.

"Fun?!", Phil swallowed hard. "I'm starting to think we have very different definitions of fun, Jeffrey."

Mace laughed, "You should see the look on your face just now. Don't worry about it, Phil. I'm just trying to rile you up."

"And you're doing a pretty good job", Phil let out a sigh of relief. A hand had been absentmindedly clutching the tumbler glass in front of him on the table. "Thanks for that."

If they ever were to have a match to find out who was the strongest of the two, Phil would obviously lose. No doubt about it. He knew he couldn't compete with Mace, nor would he ever lie about that – to others or to himself. He was very much aware of what he could and couldn't do. Defeating an Inhuman, especially one with super strength, was one of the things he wasn't capable of. Limitations were often seen as burdens, but it didn't bother him at all. As a matter of fact, he chose his battles wisely because of it.

"But if I'm going to be out on the field more, I want you to train me," Mace paused, smiling to lighten the mood, "if you want, of course."

"'Going to be out on the field more'?", Phil repeated, frowning.

"Yes", Mace nodded. "Burrows told me it's good for publicity - that sort of thing. The way the public views SHIELD is extremely crucial -"

"I know, but wouldn't Daisy be more qualified for that?"

Mace shrugged. "I'm asking you. I already asked Agent Johnson, but she declined. I'm afraid my first impression wasn't particularly great. Agent Johnson doesn't know me very well, either. But if you don't want to, I promise I won't be too hard on you", he said, winking at Phil.

"I...", Phil paused to clear his mind. "Sure."

"Great!", Mace rose to his feet, beaming brightly. "I'll see you downstairs at 5:30?"

Phil looked at the clock beside him on the wall, eyes widening in realisation, and he immediately sobered up, protesting, "But that's in three hours."

Mace was already almost out of the door when he said, smirking widely, "You better get some rest, agent Coulson. I plan on offering you a _real_ challenge in the morning."


	2. A Beacon of Light

Over three hours and practically no sleep later, Phil had managed to drag himself out of bed, had quickly dressed himself and was now making his way towards the training room with a big mug of steaming hot coffee. Having tossed and turned all night, he'd found it difficult to fall asleep. While alcohol usually helped him fall asleep, it hadn't helped him this time. He had felt restless instead, unable to sleep until just after five in the morning. He now felt utterly spent and just wanted to go back to bed, but he'd made a promise — one he was adamant on keeping.

"Ah, there you are!" Mace greeted him, smiling as he rose from one of the benches on the side of the training mat. "You're 12 minutes late, agent Coulson."

Mace sounded stern, almost like a teacher talking down to one of its pupils, but he actually seemed relieved to finally see the other man.

"I'm not-" Phil turned around to look at the time, his voice cutting off when he noticed it was nearly 5:50 in the morning. "Sorry."

The tone of his voice betrayed his insincerity. He was grumpy, which was not like him at all, even with the lack of sleep. He did apologetically smile at Mace, but he felt too worn out to genuinely apologize. It wasn't even his fault, actually. Not really. Mace had set this _ridiculous_ time for their training session, knowing full well his sparring partner wouldn't be able to rest much.

It was _his_ fault, obviously.

So, instead of arguing, Phil opted for the easy way out by taking a long sip from his coffee, but Mace's eyes were on him like a hawk's - careful, observant - before he flashed Phil another one of his dazzling smiles.

He might not have had any training yet, but he knew something was up.

"That's all right," Mace patted him on the back as he passed the other man. "Did you sleep well?"

"Of course I did, Sir," Phil's voice dripped with sarcasm, taking his superior's genuine concern as an insult while he carefully watched Mace.

Mace scoffed inaudibly at his bad-tempered agent. His expression then suddenly turned serious; a deep frown appeared, "I'm glad you decided to show up, Phillip."

"Was there even another option, _Director_?" Phil questioned, putting Mace in his place by emphasizing the nature of their relationship, which was mostly based on hierarchy before anything else.

He quickly took another sip, figuring he probably needed to shut up — rather sooner than later. He didn't want to poke the bear too much. Mace could make his life miserable by confining him to the base, after all. But, on the other hand, he just couldn't help himself, feeling the need to take everything unabashedly out on his opponent in front of him.

Mace laughed heartily before turning round to address his subordinate, placing his hands on his hips, " _Yes,_ there was. You could've said no — even to your Director."

"You said you needed someone to train you," Phil paused to place the mug on the floor, his back directed at Mace, but he could feel Mace's eyes burning on him, closely taking in his every move. "And you _did_ mention I was your best agent…"

Phil abruptly struck his left hand in Mace's direction, a pleasant (and perhaps a bit smug) smirk etched across his face. Mace, however caught off guard he initially might've been, managed to block Phil's punch with his right hand, holding Phil's hand in his own. Mace's grip on Phil's hand was firm, definitely strong, and Phil's prosthetic slowly started to emit a glow in response to the warm touch - enough to catch Mace's eye.

"Unless you didn't mean it," Phil pointed out, the smirk having faded away the moment he realized Mace had better reflexes than he'd originally suspected. He'd also hoped to divert his partner's attention while trying to retrieve his hand from Mace's grasp with all his might, but to no avail.

"Oh, I can assure you that I did," Mace replied, the tone of his voice as earnest as it could possibly be and perhaps even little offended, to have himself questioned like this. The look in his eyes, though... it reminded Phil of last night.

The mischievous sparkle was back.

" _That's_ … good to know," Phil quickly retorted, swallowing hard before he attacked Mace with his right hand, hoping to land a punch against the other man's chest, but Mace, knowing that Phil had been planning something, released Phil's hand just in time and took a few steps back to dodge the punch.

Mace let out a chuckle before speaking, "You fight dirty, agent Coulson. I hope that's not how it's going to be for the rest of our session. I'll be very disappointed otherwise."

"Well, Director," Phil objected, gingerly rubbing his left hand with his other one, thankful for its release. "Your enemies aren't going to play fair either."

Mace's sharp eyes regarded him for a couple of seconds before Mace nodded lightly, agreeing, the doubt seemingly disappeared, "You're right."

"Besides, even with your abilities, it's good to strike first to get the upper hand," Phil said as he moved around Mace to the left. Intense blue eyes followed him watchfully.

"Oh, but that's not all I got," Mace smirked mischievously before abruptly striking out. Mace's swift right hand made contact with Phil's forehead, causing Phil to take a step backwards to prevent himself from falling. "I'm just warming up, agent."

Once his posture was balanced again, Phil breathed, "That's a cheap shot, _Sir."_

"Is it now?" Mace teased him, unable to prevent the grin from spreading across his face.

 _"Yes."_

"How's it any different from your first punch?" Mace's hands were once again on his hips, and Phil bit down onto his lower lip. His superior wasn't entirely wrong.

"Fair enough," he hesitantly admitted, seeing how Mace slowly inhaled, his chest sticking out like a proud peacock. Mace seemed very pleased with this little victory, which only added more fuel to the fire. Phil's mood plummeted, until it struck him: he had to drawn Mace out.

The two started circling one another, and, because he'd grown impatient with Phil's inaction after a while, Mace decided to throw a punch in the other man's direction. Phil effortlessly blocked the punch and grabbed Mace's left hand, holding it with his own, but not without slight difficulty. Mace stared at Phil's left hand in amazement when it slowly started to glow again. While Mace was temporarily caught off guard, Phil threw his elbow against his opponent's head, causing the two men to fall to the floor. While Phil landed on top of Mace, one of Mace's hands clutched Phil's shirt tightly and pulled, hoping to get Phil off of him and onto his back, but Phil wrapped his right arm around Mace's neck just in time. Mace groaned in response, now unable to breathe properly. Unwilling to give up just yet, Phil desperately clung to Mace's neck when Mace added more strength to his grasp. Phil panicked slightly when he heard the seams in his shirt starting to tear. He then made the rash decision to tightly wrap his legs around Mace's waist to prevent Mace from ultimately winning their first match. He wasn't willing to give Mace this win so soon. In fact, he wasn't going to give up at all.

" _Phillip,_ let me go", Mace almost begged between unsteady breaths, sounding scared while he abruptly let go of Phil. He raised his hands in defeat, and Phil directly did as he was told, realizing the gravity of the request.

Sure, Mace was notorious for being a questionable leader, nobody knew what he was really after, but that didn't give Phil a free pass to do whatever he pleased or wanted - especially not to his boss. He certainly didn't intend on killing him.

 _Did he?_

"Are you all right?" Phil asked with furrowed eyebrows, both worried and alarmed. He wasn't sure what had gotten over him just now.

"I was," Mace coughed, a hand tending to his now reddening neck, "until you started choking me."

"I'm sorry," Phil spoke softly, shyly offering Mace a hand to help him get back on his feet.

Mace steadied his breathing and stared blankly at Phil's offered hand for a moment before taking it, a devious twinkle having appeared in his eyes once more.

Once he was standing on two feet again, he swung at Phil with all his might. Phil, having suspected Mace would do something like this to get at least even, instantly ducked, and Mace threw another punch, hoping to land at least another blow on the agent. Instead, Phil blocked Mace's second punch and took a few steps backwards.

"You know," Phil breathed, the rush of adrenaline blocking out what had just occurred. "You can't just hope you'll hit me eventually."

"Why not?" Mace inquired, smirking. His hands were up to defend himself as he slowly, very cautiously, started to approach Phil.

Oh, he'll make sure to wipe that smug smile off of Mace's face.

Mace threw another punch at Phil, which Phil almost effortlessly blocked with his lower arm, but the amount of power within that punch made him wince momentarily. He gritted his teeth and placed a hand around Mace's neck again. Phil moved in this time, pulling the other man down and kicking Mace in the abdomen with his knee. Mace whimpered softly before steadying himself and pushing Phil away with too much force. Phil landed on his back at the edge of the mat. A scowl appeared on his face while he covered his abdomen with his right hand.

"I thought you weren't going to use your powers?" he said, grimacing.

"We never made such a deal, Phil," Mace replied, cocky, as he made his way to his colleague. He squatted down beside Phil. "But I have to admit: you know what you're doing."

"SHIELD training, remember?" Phil joked, feeling a little flattered - despite just being thrown across the mat like a ragdoll.

Mace smirked before lending Phil a hand. When Phil took Mace's hand, his left hand leisurely began to glow again. Phil's eyes widened slightly, hoping the younger man wouldn't notice. He immediately looked at Mace to gauge his reaction, but Mace had already noticed it.

"You know you have your own personal flashlight embedded in the palm of your hand, right?" Mace remarked, his eyes fixated on Phil's hand, which slowly started to glow brighter with the passing of time.

"Does it now?" Phil fretted before swallowing hard. He hurriedly got up and released Mace's hand the second he stood. The light abruptly faded away once their hands parted.

"Another one of agent Fitz's perks?" Mace asked, obviously intrigued.

"No," Phil replied, staring at his prosthetic for a couple of seconds before brushing it (and, in a way, the topic) off on his shorts. "It doesn't have any function. It just does that when people touch it. I'm not sure why. It happens all the time, though. Don't worry about it."

It actually didn't, but he was starting to get a pretty good idea as to why it did. He just hoped Mace actually believed him, despite his ramblings. He needed to stop doing that whenever he was nervous.

"Oh," Mace lightly pouted, visibly disappointed at the lack of mystery and secretiveness. "That doesn't seem very practical during missions. Have you told agent Fitz yet? He should be able to fix it."

"No," Phil laughed awkwardly before licking his lips. His throat had gotten awfully dry all of the sudden. "I haven't yet, but I'll do that soon, Sir."

Mace looked at him funny, a quizzical look upon his face. He was probably analyzing the situation again. Having made up his mind, he patted his subordinate on one of his shoulders, "Good."

He really shouldn't have called him 'Sir' just now, but it'd left his lips before he had a chance to think things through. He'd panicked. God, he'd _panicked,_ like an anxious, embarrassing teenager. Mace thankfully didn't bring up it again during their sparring session, even if Phil's hand started to glow up at each and every touch like a damn beacon of light. He'd become a lighthouse, but Mace probably believed his half-assed excuse.

* * *

Mace actually picked things up rather quickly once he started thinking before acting. After their session, the Director no longer rushed into things and clumsily blocked every punch, which only led to him being more vulnerable than necessary. His reflexes and strength, of course, were quite useful — until Phil had landed a powerful blow with his prosthetic against Mace's abdomen, which, in its turn, had triggered Mace's inherent instinct to protect himself, and Phil ended up flying across the room, landing hard against one of the pillars.

"I just… need to lie down for a while," Phil croaked, closing his eyes and resting his head on the floor against a couple of broken bricks.

Mace was by his side in a heartbeat with shock written all over his face, "Phillip! I'm sorry, are you okay?"

A strong hand was unconsciously placed on Phil's chest in concern, but Phil groaned at the touch, and Mace immediately let go of the other man.

Phil kept his eyes firmly shut and mumbled incoherently before uttering the two words, "Everything... hurts…"

"Wait here, I'll go get agent Simmons."

"I can't actually move…" Phil pointed out.

It wasn't that he absolutely _couldn't_ move. He could if he really tried, but he _didn't want to_. His body hurt too much. Everything hurt too much. His body felt broken and bruised, especially his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Phillip," Mace's voice sounded so unlike him, so unlike their Director Mace. It was full of concern and remorse, instead. If Phil hadn't been in pain, he would've enjoyed this side of Jeffrey Mace seeping out of the cracks he'd unknowingly made.

He might've even savored the moment.

Mace's faintly shaking hand drifted above Phil, wanting to touch him, to provide some form of comfort, but knowing all too well that he couldn't.

"Just get Jemma", Phil ordered, wincing again.

"Right," Mace whispered softly before promptly racing upstairs to the Science Lab. He brought Jemma with him a couple of minutes later, after having been cussed out at length and helping her pack a duffle bag with equipment.

Jemma instantly rushed to Phil's side once she spotted him lying down. Mace placed the bag beside her, but he was more hesitant to sit by Phil's side, the guilt strongly affecting him. He remained in the background, pacing back and forth in the room with his arms tightly crossed, occasionally glancing in their direction, while Jemma examined her patient with her tools. She prodded everywhere, and Phil groaned at her touches every very once in a while. A bickering between the two then followed, with Jemma insisting that whatever she was doing at the moment was necessary to determine how badly hurt he was. Phil objected as much as he could, not being a fan of the doctor - especially not the cruel doctor Simmons, but he ultimately let Jemma do her job.

"Could you please stop doing that? It's distracting," Jemma unexpectedly barked at Mace.

Mace instantly stopped dead in his tracks and approached them, eager to get some answers. He hovered slightly above Phil and Jemma, but not quite getting in the way or intruding. He wanted to give Phil as much privacy as he could and he certainly didn't want to agitate Jemma even more, but Jemma took her time and finished the examination by checking Phil's pulse. Two of her fingers were placed on Phil's left wrist. A minute passed, and her stern expression lessened and a sigh of relief escaped.

"So?" Mace impatiently asked, chewing on the inside of his mouth before sucking in a breath. His arms were still firmly folded in front of his chest and his eyebrows were heavily furrowed in worry.

 _"So,"_ Jemma repeated, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "There is some good news and some bad news. The good news is that he'll be fine in the end. Agent Coulson has some cuts and scrapes, but this is actually great, considering all things."

She gave Mace a dirty look over her shoulder, blatantly blaming him, but Mace shrugged it off. He couldn't care. He cared more about Phil's health than his standing with agent Simmons.

"Jemma," Phil quietly warned her to behave.

Jemma fought back the urge to roll her eyes before she spoke, not yet willing to let this stranger, their new Director, off the hook so easily, "But a couple of ribs are heavily bruised. Luckily, nothing is broken, but he does need rest."

Mace nodded, a small smile creeping on his face. A sense of relief washed over him as he exhaled loudly, realizing he'd been holding his breath in fear of terrible news.

Jemma gestured towards the nearby bench with her head, "Could you carry him over there?"

"Are you sure that's a wise idea?" Mace cautiously questioned her. Jemma threw him another look, a dangerous, threatening one this time, and Mace hurriedly made his way to Phil and wrapped his arm around his agent's waist. He then thoughtfully put Phil's arm across his broad shoulders and softly hoisted Phil up to his feet, who gasped and flinched a couple of times, despite Mace trying to be as gentle as possible.

With Jemma in tow, who carefully observed the older man and his injuries, Mace slowly brought Phil to one of the benches.

"You don't have to be so rough", Phil complained, whining.

Putting Phil down, Mace squatted in front of him and replied earnestly, his voice and expression tender as he regarded Phil's blue orbs, "I'm doing my best, Phillip, and I am so terribly sorry."

"I know," Phil said quietly, somberly, after a couple of seconds. He averted his eyes, unable to look Mace in the eye. Mace still smiled warmly and helped Phil to sit up right, with Phil's back now fully supported by the brick wall behind him.

"Okay, I'm going to get agent Coulson something against the pain now, along with some ice to combat the swelling. Keep an eye on him in the meantime," Jemma instructed, smiling and nodding before she hastily left the room, leaving the two men alone.

"She's, uh, a good doctor," Phil gestured towards the exit, attempting to make small talk to pass the time.

"Yeah," Mace paused to look after Jemma as well. "Even though she hates my guts for hurting you, and she already disliked me to begin with."

"Give it some time," Phil spoke softly.

Their eyes met again, and Phil's soft, intense stare sent a shiver down Mace's spine, the muscles in his lower abdomen clenching, much like they had during their previous conversation. Phil's gaze felt as though he was seeing right through him, Mace's soul as bare and exposed as it could be, and it made him slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what Phil would find or that he would even like that what he _would_ find. Mace could feel his cheeks starting to heat up at the thought of that.

They silently stared at one another for a couple of minutes, with Phil somehow oozing tranquility for the first time that day, before Mace, considerably flustered and not so very at peace, broke it.

Now was as good a time as any to get an honest answer.

"Do you have a problem with me, agent Coulson? I couldn't help but notice the evident crankiness this morning, and it seemed… _directed at me_?" Mace wondered innocently. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but his eyes were unusually kind. He seemed uncertain, perhaps even a little bashful, while still trying to keep up appearances.

"What? No - no, you're fine," Phil quickly said, the calmness he'd previously managed to maintain promptly disappeared. He didn't want Mace to feel bad, but he ended up stumbling over his words as his gaze involuntary went up and down Mace's body. _"Very fine, in fact."_

Phil had gotten used to seeing Mace in a suit. In fact, it was all he ever wore, but now, feeling more like himself while Mace wore a tight sleeveless shirt for the very first time, which also clung nicely to his upper muscular body, Phil was at a loss for words. It perfectly emphasized Mace's strong, chiseled chest. Phil never fancied himself as shallow, but, admittedly, he had felt tempted to touch Mace all morning.

Phil's eyes shifted between Mace and Jemma, who had just arrived with a couple of ice packets and painkillers. She must've overheard him because she'd stopped approaching them and simply stared dumbfounded at him. Phil laughed nervously. He hadn't actually meant to say that out loud.

Mace had directed his gaze to the ground the moment Jemma had entered the room, his lips pursed. He instinctively folded his arms before his chest, putting his guard up again. His cheeks were now burning up and turning a darker shade of red. He then cleared his throat before speaking, hoping to lift the sudden awkwardness that filled the room, "You know you put your shirt on backwards this morning, right, agent Coulson?"

"What?" Phil responded, looking down at his shirt straightaway. The small tag of his shirt greeted him, which nearly caressed his chin. He looked at Mace again, his gaze locking with the younger man's humored one. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

" _I would've_ , but you were too busy being angry at me," Mace shrugged, his arms still crossed. His stare then softened. He leaned in, so that Jemma was unable to hear him, his voice a firm and strict whisper, "But we'll finish that talk later in my office."

Phil swallowed hard.

Great.

He couldn't wait.


End file.
